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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392354">what a lovely way to burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHeart/pseuds/CeruleanHeart'>CeruleanHeart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Billy is very thirsty, Boys In Love, Flirting, M/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Summer Fic, Sweaty sexy and suggestive, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:00:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHeart/pseuds/CeruleanHeart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A heatwave is rolling through Hawkins but instead of living it up at he pool or the quarry Billy and Steve have found a secret spot of their own to kill time and steal glances at each other that are hotter than the summer sun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>253</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what a lovely way to burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Indiana in the middle of a heatwave --</p><p>Every day seems endless, time flowing and stretching lazily like molasses as the sun travels past its zenith and towards the horizon of a steel blue sky. Gently and almost unnoticed the shadows of all things begin to ooze into the afternoon.</p><p>They crawl along the train tracks cooling off from the smoldering midday glare with quiet metallic cracking sounds and start to bleed into each other where the abandoned carcasses of old vehicles and scrap metal rust away silently at the edge between the forest and the open fields.</p><p>The demounted rear bench of a car has been dragged from the desolation of the junkyard and into the shade of a nearby tree. Cheerful pop song tunes trickle out of the speaker of a portable radio propped on the remnants of a wooden crate. </p><p>Two boys sprawled across the backseats are bathing in the music and the heat, limbs dangling, heads lolling against the bolsters, lungs filled with the smell of ozone and hay under the sun. </p><p>The breathy voice of some starlet dreaming of landing the next big summer hit mixes with the buzzing of the insects in the tall grass as it swells and fades in slow-building waves, lyrics already forgotten as they hover and drift away in the shimmering air. </p><p>Billy stretches in his position, lifts his arms over and behind his head. For a blissful moment, he luxuriates in the way his skin unsticks from the cracking vinyl of the bench and air envelopes the sides and the back of his naked torso as he arches his spine. </p><p>The ancient springs in the seat creak with the movement and across from him, Steve blinks through the heat-haze in his direction. He's flushed pink, from the neck upwards, looks positively feverish, dark eyes like embers, hair a mess and sticking to his forehead. Harrington is not built for this weather, unlike Billy who's got scorch marks on his soul and sunshine in his veins from endless California summers.</p><p>Steve's short shorts ride high on his thighs way past the line where his tan stops, exposing the way they slip against each other, slick with sweat, as he writhes in his seat, too sluggish to stand up, too restless to stay still. His movements are slow, languid, showing off a silver of his pale belly, his shirt sliding up when he melts back into the cushions.</p><p>"It's soo hot." he sighs, just at the edge of breathless, eyes falling shut. </p><p>His lips shape around the o in a way that makes Billy grab the coke can he's been saving and take a hasty sip, just so that he can give his own mouth something else to do than drool. </p><p>The sweetness of the soft drink lands on his tongue in a cold explosion, millions of bubbles bursting in his mouth. Cherry mixing with the salt on his lips. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend it's the ocean air coating them, not the sweat beading on his upper lip in the Midwestern humidity. </p><p>"Yeah." he says, feels the bass of his own voice vibrate in his chest, the way the heat that bothers him is coming from right there, deep inside, not the air around him. "It's hot. No shit, Harrington."</p><p>Billy heard Steve's got a pool at home, he doesn't want to use. But he doesn't ask about the reasons just like he doesn't tell him why he keeps coming back here pretending he keeps finding Steve by chance. They don’t make plans and there are no whys and hows between them. Not here in the little corner of the world they've built from scraps. Things are simple here. All they do is exist together in harmony with the quietness of the place.</p><p>He takes another sip, tries to swallow down all the complicated desires that are stirring low in his gut, as Steve cracks open an eye and gives him a quizzical look. </p><p>"You're not going to share that?" he asks, nods in the direction of Billy’s drink, smile lazy-sweet and never quite innocent. </p><p>For a second Billy pretends that he won't, cocks his head and flashes his teeth at him, like he wouldn't give Harrington every<em>thing</em> just for a chance to know their lips touched the same spot. </p><p>Then he hands the can over, watches as Steve grabs it and drinks, Adam's apple bobbing greedily.</p><p>His empty hand doesn't know what to do with itself, goes to the back of his neck instinctively to rub at the sweat that has built there. The hair in the nape of his neck is wet. He wipes across it, dries it off after on what used to be last year's pair of boot-cut jeans and is now serving as this summer's shorts.</p><p>Across from him Harrington first presses the sweating can to his temple, then to the side of his neck and moans in relief. Billy watches the condensation drip over his long slender fingers, run down the column of his throat and pool in the divot between his collarbones. </p><p>He lets his gaze linger there for a second. Indulges in the thought of leaning over into Harrington's space and learning what that shimmering drop of water tastes like. If it carries the flavor of Steve's skin. </p><p>When Steve’s eyes open again with another sigh, he holds his gaze for a second, almost like he knows about all of Billy’s idle fantasies. He leans forward and close to Billy with that same fever-dream smile painted on his wet lips.</p><p>“Here.” he says and presses the cold can into Billy’s wide chest. He rolls it slowly along the underside of his collarbone and towards his shoulder, wet fingers grazing the warm skin on Billy’s pec as he shifts the can between them. “Refreshing, right?” </p><p>Billy suppresses a shiver and nods, carefully pries the can from Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t think he can take much more of this before he makes a move that will shatter their fragile equilibrium. </p><p>Steve blinks at him, something dark passing through his eyes and then falls back into his side of the bench. Billy takes the cue to empty his soda but the moment doesn’t break, instead continues to simmer between them when Steve’s eyes stray away from his and fall to the spot where Billy can feel a bead of sweat and water travel down between his pecs and towards his navel.</p><p>He wipes it away with one slow stroke of his palm before it reaches its destination and registers the way Steve’s head snaps up and the blush on his face deepens. Long, slender fingers flutter to a pink cherub mouth in a nervous gesture like they’re trying in vain to catch a quiet laugh that bubbles from Steve’s lips.</p><p>He pops his thumb in, sucks it clean for one second that does absolutely excruciating things to Billy’s self-control and then says “Sticky.” with a grin when a dark brow is raised at him.</p><p>Billy commits every detail of the moment to memory. When night falls and they part he’ll conjure up the image behind his closed eyelids and stroke himself to it until he relieves himself of the tension coiling hot and tight in his belly.</p><p>Sometimes Billy wonders if Steve knows what he’s doing to him. If he’s being a tease, just waiting for Billy to take the first step.</p><p>But he doesn't move. Never moves, only exists in the other boy's periphery like a satellite orbiting around its sun. Every touch they share is deliberately accidental, the intent of every look, well hidden behind lowered lashes. They exist like that for a few stolen hours each week that feel removed from time, never disturbing their delicate balance. </p><p>Billy knows it won't last. That every heatwave must be broken by a tempest, that the clouds of it are already accumulating somewhere behind the shimmering air and the cornfields and the trees, out of sight beyond the horizon. </p><p>But for now, they have this. For now, Billy is content and sated from the heat and the sun and the beautiful boy that will bring him to his knees. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh Billy, you pining idiot.<br/>Today is my birthday and since giving is more fulfilling than taking I thought I'd celebrate it with you guys by posting this little treat.<br/>Hope you enjoyed it!! If you did, a click on the little heart or a comment would be especially lovely today. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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